


Rawr meets J'zargo

by DagmarIceBlade (almostalldishes)



Series: Rawr the Khajiit [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Crack, Dirty Talk, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostalldishes/pseuds/DagmarIceBlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rawr the Khajiit visits the College of Winterhold, where she meets J'zargo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rawr meets J'zargo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the Skyrimkinkmeme asking for a Dragonborn being sweettalked by J'zargo and wondering whether our favourite Khajiit mage would be successful. Ancano was nice enough to feature in this story, too. Crack!

Frigid winds blew against the cliffs that housed Winterhold and towering clouds with promise of snow and ice approached the small city with a mage population larger than anywhere in Skyrim. Rawr crossed the narrow bridge leading up to the proud structure, the fur on the backs of her hands and in her neck tingling as she approached the place of magic. 

Magic was not her forte. She didn’t like it much at all. She knew one spell – one she only learnt because it meant instant fire when she stopped for the night, and feeling the magicka drain from her hands was preferable in every way to fumbling with flint and steel in the cold, snowy wilderness.

The sole reason for her visit was Urag gro-Shub, librarian of the College. She had an Elder Scroll. The Thieves Guild didn’t know what to do with it, and she didn’t know if she _wanted_ them to. If the writing by that madman Septimus Signus was any indication, she would gladly hand it off to some scholars who would spend the rest of their lives locked in some dark corner of the College and only emerge to publish nonsensical writings.

Entering the College courtyard, the gusts that tormented the coast subsided, their force broken by the tall walls. She absently scratched the pommel of her waraxe, feeling utterly out of place.

She exhaled for a moment, before opening the door to the Hall of the Elements, only to have all her hairs suddenly rise along her whole body as she came eye to eye with a giant ball of… some origin or another. Rawr growled, oblivious to the Altmer mage standing close-by. _This_ is why she didn’t go here. Alchemy, fine. Enchanting, wonderful. But _not magic_ that permeated the air and her every fibre and made her wish her heavy armor was several inches thicker than would be physically comfortable to wear.

A pair of glass-paned doors still separated her and that _thing_ , but it didn’t really help.

“Are those ears just for show or must I repeat myself? Do you have a reason to be here, Khajiit?”

Rawr turned to the mage, uncomfortably aware of how fluffy she looked. He was a Thalmor even, looking down on her, giving her the distinct impression she _really_ shouldn’t have come here. “This one has business with Urag gro-Shub.”

“I wonder what business that Orc could possibly have with a dirty mercenary entering the Arcanaeum unannounced.”

“This one visits many places with many interesting books.” And wishes to be _gone from this hall right now_.

“And what books would that be?”

“Old places with old books.” This was not the type of mage she had in mind to lock himself in the dark catacombs of the College to study an Elder Scroll. Too ambitious.

“Don’t forget to dust yourself off, then.” The Thalmor mage snorted, but turned away from her, as if she had humored him long enough.

Rawr wasted no time and dashed through the door to the Arcanaeum. Books were better. Better than giant artefacts of magic and smug Thalmor mages.

* * *

Urag gro-Shub wore a look of surprise when she laid the Elder Scroll on the table, which she always found amusing on Orcs. The furrow of thick eyebrows and their lower lip pulling back to expose more of their tusks, they seemed to have perfected even their astonishment to intimidate their foes. Two thousand septims made her as happy as Urag, and she turned around, lingering in the library for a moment so her fur would stop making her look like a fuzz ball.

Just as she thought she was ready to face another hair-raising sprint through the Hall of the Elements, she halted in her tracks. A male Khajiit, arms crossed, leaned against the frame of the door.

The magic and the cold and the Thalmor mage could wait.

“J’zargo greets you, fellow of the fairest of races,” he rasped softly. His ears twitched under his hood.

“Well met far from the warm sands of Elsweyr, J’zargo. Rawr greets you.”

“Rawr…” He spoke her name as if he tasted it, then again, almost growling. “Rawr.” The low rasp combined with his Khajiit rolling of the ‘r’ sounded like music to her ears. Too long had she missed that. “Not a name of our tongue, Rawr.”

Her tail wriggled. While she could not avoid the subject when she met other Khajiit, she did not want to revisit it now. “This one has an unconventional past. This one did not know a Khajiit visited the College?”

“J’zargo does not merely visit. He studies here and is on his way to become a great and powerful mage.” He stepped forward, the movement accompanied by the shuffling of his fur boots and twitching of his whiskers. “However, he had not seen any other Khajiit” – drawling the vowels – “in the College.”

“Rawr only visits.”

“Do you not wish to pursue the way of magic?”

With a lopsided grin, she said: “Rawr has other talents. You are a curious one.”

“Not often enough does this one speak with those as clever as those from Elsweyr. Or as beautiful as Rawr.” His voice had become delicate and even lower. Another step brought him at just an arm’s length of her.

“Does J’zargo wish for something more than conversation?”

J’zargo snorted. “You spent much time with Nords to be so direct about matters of charm.”

“Matters of charm distract from the matters at hand.”

J’zargo’s gaze dropped from her face to the rest of her. “Are you a soldier, then?” He wrinkled his nose in disapproval.

“Rawr does not wear heavy plates of armor for show.”

“Ah, but the art of magic is much more elegant, is it not?”

“Are you challenging this one’s _elegance_ of abilities?” She raised an eyebrow and lips curled into a grin. They had only just met, and already the game was on.

J’zargo smiled, which bared his fangs, and looked more like a mischievous grin. “Either you are a soldier or a thief, and J’zargo has not met any of either who would dare take on a mage like him.”

Rawr’s ears went almost flat to her head, but the grin remained. “Other mages have not been a problem for this one, before.” Which was not technically true. But who would know? “J’zargo should be careful about who he dares.”

“It is unbecoming of J’zargo to leave Rawr ignorant. Let J’zargo first show you what magic can do.”

When they left the Arcanaeum, she hoped he wouldn’t show that rotating ball of magic in the Hall of Elements.

* * *

But, of course, he _did_. And immediately, the hair-raising sensation was back and her limbs tingled at the obvious power concentrated in one object. Her fellow Khajiit opened the glass-paned doors to the hall beyond.

“I hope you have a good reason to allow an outsider close to this artefact, J’zargo? You again, Khajiit?” The Altmer mage still lingered in the entrance to the Hall; what _did_ he do with his time? Nevertheless, she agreed with his reluctance to allow her close to such an obviously priceless artefact.

“This one saw many places with magic. What you can show this one will hardly compare.”

The Altmer shot her a glare. “Your ignorance is obvious.”

“J’zargo will not linger.” J’zargo reached for her wrist, but she pulled her hand away just before he could grab it.

She shrugged, but averted her eyes. She had just sold the librarian an _Elder Scroll_. “This one suggests you speak to Urag gro-Shub on matters of magic and ignorance.”

“And what could the Orc possibly know that I do not?” His glare still burned on her.

Did the College _only_ house smug, arrogant mages? “This one leaves that to Altmer-mage to find out.”

The man smirked, threw her another glare and walked off with curiosity piqued.

J’zargo attempted to grab her wrist once again, and this time she allowed him to drag her away, even though she dearly wished to _not get any closer_. It was a truly enormous object, bathing in otherworldly light, and the magic fluffed her fur again.

“You should know Ancano is adviser to the archmage. J’zargo wishes to continue his studies, not die in a fire of his making,” J’zargo informed her in a low voice.

Then he turned to her. It took J’zargo a moment before cycling through snorts all the way to a pitying-but-mocking laugh right in her face.

Rawr glared at him, ears once again flat on her head, knowing exactly why she was the source of his ridicule. With a lick across her hand, she tried to flatten the worst of the static hairs with some dampness, but it seemed even the effects of the magic refused to obey the normal rules of reality. The hair stayed upright.

With J’zargo’s attention compromised, she took two soft steps towards him, her hand going to the mage’s pocket. He did not flinch, did not indicate he had noticed her sudden closeness. She would show him what she thought of his arrogance. And he did smell _nice_.

“How much longer will J’zargo laugh about this one?”

He snorted again, but quieted down. “J’zargo wonders how Rawr managed to beat _any_ mage if this happens every time.”

“This one simply defeats them before they throw around their fire.”

He turned towards her, now less mocking, but still with a grin. “J’zargo wishes to see that.” _Charm_ , there it was again. Perhaps she spent too much time around Nords after all.

Rawr bared a glint of her fangs. “Are you sure you can take that, J’zargo?”

“Anything you can throw at J’zargo, he is certain he can take.” And _arrogance_. “Is Rawr sure she can take more magic?”

She glanced at the glowing ball, stepping away from it. “If it is not this, then this one will be pleased.”

* * *

The cold in the courtyard bothered her little when she stepped outside. Considering her first response would have been to puff up her fur a little and trap air between the hairs, the ball of magic had some positive side effect after all. J’zargo, like the true show-off he was, had a plan ready immediately when she stepped outside. Since _he_ had challenged _her_ , he at least knew the unspoken rules for a proper play fight. He would win if he touched her, she would win if she touched him. 

“Show this one how elegant you can be, J’zargo,” she muttered under her breath as J’zargo positioned himself on the other side of the empty yard.

The first projectiles made of elemental fire went wide, as Rawr sidestepped them easily. She threw her challenger a smug grin, baring her canines, before slowly approaching him. She hid behind the statue for just a few seconds.

“Is Rawr going to sit still all day?” J’zargo rasped, projectiles momentarily ceasing.

“J’zargo should wait before making assumptions.” Rawr dove from behind the statue, into the shrubs. One of his fire balls flew wide. “Instead, he should try _aiming_.”

The gallery of pillars covered her approach further.

“Will Rawr hide behind those now?”

“J’zargo should have made up additional rules if he did not want that, should he not?” Just twenty feet. Ice had replaced fire, and one missed her by a few inches because J’zargo did have good enough aim to send it flying just between two pillars.

“J’zargo said nothing about staying put,” the mage said in an even lower voice than before.

Rawr halted behind a pillar for a moment, just peeking out to see what the other Khajiit was up to. J’zargo moved from his position near the entrance, taking deliberate steps towards the middle of the courtyard. No place close to him that would hide her.

“This one would have been disappointed had J’zargo changed a rule.” She would have challenged his upbringing, had he done that, but she could spy no fault in his reasoning. She threw another glance around the corner, a stroke of lightning narrowly missing her. His aim improved, best get this over with.

“J’zargo has not learnt the rules of a play fight?” The rhetorical question was punctuated by a flurry of electricity on both sides of the pillar. He could not hold that up, though, she knew that much about magic.

At the first sign of silence, she dove from behind the pillar in a crouch. The mage backed away from her, but that didn’t matter. No magical elements left his fingers and she ran forward, watching the scowl of concentration deepen on his face.

He aimed for her chest, but just as the fire ball would have hit her – just ten feet from the mage now – she twisted out of the way. He must have thought that graceful, how could he not?

He needed time to recharge his pool of magicka before the next attack could come. If she could figure any rhythm to it, she had just enough time to win. With a leap, she closed half the distance between them, another roll brought her even closer. Momentum bringing her back to her feet, just as she put her hand on his shoulder, something burned against the chest plates of her armour.

“Got you,” both of them said at the same time.

Rawr recoiled from the heat, ears going flat against her head, a growl escaping her. J’zargo pulled his hand back, eyes narrowing.

“Rawr won,” she growled.

“J’zargo won. J’zargo touched you with fire. Hot fire. Rawr touched this one with a finger.”

“A claw.”

“A finger. I touched Rawr with fire.” He put his hand, still warm, on her shoulder. “Rawr was elegant, but could not win from the magnificence of J’zargo.”

“Then if this one did not win, Rawr is certain J’zargo lost something.” She drew a small scroll from her cloak.

“Not a soldier then. A thief.” The grin that gave her chills as if it were magic returned. “This one likes Rawr. You are a true Khajiit, fairest of races. J’zargo wishes to admire you.” He snatched the scroll from her hand.

“Did Rawr win?”

“Rawr did _not_ win the play fight,” he said smugly, and put his hand on her side, caressing the plates that made up her armour. “But she caught J’zargo by surprise by her thieving skills. J’zargo proposes we settle this in another way.”

A draw was no possibility for the play fight, but she could not be disappointed much – he had valued her robbery as equally challenging as the play fight itself. Now for the final game of this best of three…

“And what way would that be?”

His hand slid lower, touching her hip right where there was an opening in her armour. “A challenge. A challenge that will show J’zargo how much of a Khajiit Rawr can be.”

“J’zargo wants to sleep with Rawr?” Her ears stood up straight on her head, then, as she considered the implications, turned sideways. 

“May the best of us win,” J’zargo said, and he wanted to take her wrist, but she pulled her hand back.

Rawr’s ears had turned completely away and her nose was wrinkling. “Rawr enjoys the company of a fellow Khajiit, but…”

“Is J’zargo going too fast? Allow this one to seduce you then, sweet lady, with words of charm and ways of wit that will have you hanging on this one’s lips until you wish for a moment of release. You will ask this one, you will _beg_ this one to stroke the fur of your neck…”

“This one is not pleased.” Rawr folded her arms before her and glared at J’zargo. Rawr was not a promiscuous Dunmer woman who would lie in bed with the first man to present himself to her, neither did she wish to put her pride on the line for a Khajiit she had only met an hour ago.

“But please you this one will, fairest of all ladies to have come through the College in a very long time.”

Her glare deepened. “Propose another play fight, J’zargo.” It would be his final chance to redeem himself. She could always go back to speak with Ri’Saad and Khayla if she desired to speak to a Khajiit.

“Lady of the moon, a play fight is not apt for what this one wishes to bring you. J’zargo wishes to show you the delights of…”

Suddenly, a frost atronach appeared between them and the exit.

“You, Khajiit! I wish to speak with you!”

“Altmer-mage disrupts a conversation this one had.” Rawr was almost glad for the interruption. Almost. He _did_ have a way with words.

“The cats were playing?” he sneered. “I have no need of you, J’zargo.”

“What does Ancano wish of her?”

“I said I have _no need of you_.” He crossed his arms. “You and I will have a chat while my frost atronach keeps an eye on you. Urag gro-Shub does not wish to tell me what you sold him. Tell me.”

The mage was almost spitting words at her, and the presence of the atronach made her less than happy. Her urge to be somewhere else, perhaps in the town of Winterhold, became greater and greater, but she could not leave without having a small victory over Ancano. “This one speaks no word with Altmer-mage.”

“My room?” J’zargo grinned, sheepishly glancing at Ancano.

“Keep those dirty secrets to yourself, cat. You’re _not going anywhere_ , until I say you can.”

The creaks from the atronach sounded closer, almost as if the creature was perpetually walking on snow, and Ancano straightened his back to seem more imposing. It wasn’t working, he seemed more like a kitten trying to roar, but the underlying menace was clear to Rawr. She then turned to the frost atronach, sized it up, then threw Ancano a look of appraisal.

“I propose you try to hit this one with that thrall” – which she pronounced much more guttural than a non-Khajiit would have – “of yours. You hit, you get an answer. You do not hit, you get no answer.”

Ancano’s expression went from one of a deep contesting scowl to one of utter contempt. He spat out the next words: “Get that furry wimp.”

J’zargo’s ears were flat on his head, and he looked at Ancano in alarm. “J’zargo has a safe room for you!” he called after her, as she took light steps out of the way of the huge swings the atronach was making. For the panic she heard in his voice, he was still trying his best to be charming. “It’s all for you, fairest.”

The atronach creaked closer, but he wasn’t very fast. Rawr danced out of the way every time the dumb creature thought to take a hit.

She didn’t see the pillar until she ran face-first into it.

Behind her, the grinding of snow came to an end and with more force than she had reckoned with, a thick arm as massive as a frosty stalactite hit the pillar just above her head. Sharp pieces of ice sprayed from the stone, which didn’t even seem to dent. When you build a College for mages, you’d make it sturdy and durable, she supposed.

“Rawr?”

She duck to the side and scrambled on all fours around the pillar. “That was close, Rawr admits!”

“This one’s room is still empty.”

A bolt of lightning singed the ground just at her feet. Those mages surely needed the target practice. She jumped up, and came against Ancano on one side and the frost atronach swinging its arm just past her head. Not the sandwich she had in mind this morning.

A dive, a quick dash, and she was at the gate. The frost atronach disappeared into thin air besides him. Another bolt of electricity hit the stone on her side. She figured it might do these mages good to have her stay at the College. At least they’d learn to _aim_. Then again, it would make disposing of them a lot more difficult.

“This one’s going now! May the wind be warmer on your next travels, J’zargo.”

Both Ancano and J’zargo looked disappointed, although the scowl Ancano gave her would haunt her. Glad she wasn’t a Thalmor spy.

“And Thalmor-mage… this one _won_ ,” she called out as she ran off into Winterhold.


End file.
